


The Song of Sammy

by Zanne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, wincest (non-graphic/implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-05
Updated: 2011-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has found his religion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Song of Sammy

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://gestaltrose.livejournal.com/profile)[ **gestaltrose**](http://gestaltrose.livejournal.com/)for beta-ing! This is based on _The Song of Solomon_ , a biblical story that is often seen as a allegory regarding the relationship between God and man. There are many translations and many interpretations, so I just added my own. It's utterly bizarre how well this fit with a few pronoun changes. The version I used (and edited) can be found here ->  <http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=SongOfSolomon>. No offense intended to anyone. Kripke owns all. (Originally posted: 2/28/08)

_The song – best of all songs – Sammy’s song!  
_   


Pastor Jim once said that God gave people a reason to live, something that gave them hope and made them want to be better people. Dean didn’t understand that concept. At six, all that sunk in was the simple idea that he needed to find his reason. He knew who Daddy’s reason was – Daddy’s reason was Mommy, but Mommy was gone and Dean saw what having no reason did to his Daddy.

  


 _Kiss me – full on the mouth!  
Your love is better than anything.  
The sound of your name murmurs like a prayer  
No wonder everyone loves to say your name!  
_   


Sammy was always so sloppy with his affection. Big wet kisses on Dean’s cheek before bed, slippery hugs when lifted from the bath. Daddy would always come in to say goodnight when he remembered, patting Sammy on the head and wishing him sweet dreams.

With Dean, it was different. Dean got his wishes, too, but with them came Daddy’s warm breath on his cheek, whispering in his ear to watch out for Sammy, Sammy needed him, Sammy was so little, Sammy, Sammy, _Sammy_ ….

Sammy’s name brought a smile to everyone’s face. It was like a prayer, a whisper, a sweet song that spilled from their lips. Sometimes Dean was jealous of the happiness of Sammy’s name. Dean was a stone with hard, bruising edges. But Sammy? Sammy was the rustle of birds’ wings flying free.

  


 _Take me away with you! Let’s run off together!  
We’ll celebrate, we’ll sing,  
We’ll make great music.  
Everyone loves you – of course!  
My father sent me to work in the fields,  
He made me care for others,  
But I had no time to care for myself.  
_   


Dean wasn’t sure if he loved or hated Sam sometimes. It could be so difficult to have such a brother. His happiest and most painful memories centered around Sam – losing Mom, Sammy’s first smile, the promises they made each other hidden under the sheets while waiting for morning to come.

Dad wanted Dean to be his soldier – to be at his side while he fought, spilling blood and cutting flesh as if there were no tomorrow for either of them. All the tomorrows were saved for Sam – scrounged and hoarded like Christmas candy.

Dean’s whole life centered on doing what his Dad needed him to do - fighting, killing…loving Sam. Sometimes he felt there was nothing left inside him but Sam; Dean wasn’t sure he’d even exist without that warm weight in his chest.

When Sam told him he was going to Stanford, Dean wanted to go with him. He imagined the life they could have – no worries, no fears, no orders, no expectations. But Sam never asked.

He wished Sam had asked. Then everything might have been different.

  


 _Tell me where you are  
\- I love you so much –  
Tell me where you live,  
Where you rest at noontime.  
Why should I be the one left out,  
Outside the orbit of your tender care?  
_   


Sam didn’t contact him for over two years. Dean felt adrift – his anchor gone, his reason lost somewhere out there – out there where he couldn’t see it or touch it or feel it.

Sammy.

He watched from a distance and saw his Sammy gather others to him like moths to a flame. It made Dean realize how unnecessary he’d always been. Dean didn’t matter to the equation. It was Sam.

It was always Sam.

  


 _You remind me of the Pharaoh’s  
Well-groomed and satiny steeds.  
Long curling locks line the elegance of your cheeks,  
Strands of sweat illuminate the curve of your throat.  
I’ll make jewelry for you, jewelry of silver and blood  
That will mark and accent your beauty.  
_   


He would tease Sam about his hair, how long he would let it grow - so against the Winchester grain of short and functional. Sam always wanted to be different.

But Dean loved it, loved to run his fingers through its silky softness. As a child he would insist on washing Sammy’s hair, telling Sam that he wasn’t doing it right, that he didn’t get out all the soap, just so he could have his hands in those thick brown strands.

As Sam got older he became more determined to leave it long, even against their father’s specific orders. When Sam would consider shortening it, Dean would casually mention to their father how long Sam’s hair was and Dad would march in and order Sam to cut it, thereby ensuring it would remain that undesirable length for at least another month or two.

Sam’s body grew, filled out, developed muscles that belied his long hair. Dean would spar with him, watching those muscles move beneath his baby brother’s skin, pulling that sun-bronzed flesh taut, and Dean would have to bow his head and genuflect at what his Sammy was becoming. It felt so wrong and yet inevitable, it was his reason, and Pastor Jim had always said God gave every man a reason.  
   
Dean taught Sam everything he knew, forcing his knowledge on his stubborn little brother so that Sam knew enough – enough to stay safe.

But it was never enough. No matter how much Dean taught him, Sam still got hurt. Steel knives and silver bullets weren’t enough to keep that skin pristine, untouched, unblemished. Dean couldn’t keep that part of Sam pure, no matter how hard he tried, until it was more than the memory of blood on that perfect skin, more than the scars that marred its sleekness, but the heated spill of shared lust on Sam’s flesh - that sanctifying liquid that was both his blessing and his curse. It became Dean’s constant.

 _In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen._ Forgive him Father, for he had sinned.

And would sin again.

  


 _When my Sammy lay down beside me,  
His head resting on my chest –  
The head of my Sammy was a sachet of sweet myrrh.  
My beloved is a bouquet of wildflowers  
Picked just for me,  
To bury the scent of blood and ashes on my skin.  
_   


Sam always smelled as if none of their life touched him – somehow pure and clean despite everything they had gone through. That unsullied scent never changed, even after things had become less than innocent between them – as if even Dean couldn’t corrupt the inherent purity of Sam.

When they would curl up together at night Sam would rest his head on his chest, even when he got too big to do it comfortably anymore. It was as if Sam knew Dean needed access to that scent buried in his hair – couldn’t sleep without drowning in that wholesomeness.

Despite everything he’d done to ruin it, it was the only pure thing Dean had left.

  


 _As an apricot tree stands out in the forest,  
My Sammy stands above the young men in town.  
All I want is to sit in his shade,  
To taste and savor his delicious love.  
He took me home with him,  
And his eyes feasted on me.  
_   


Sam grew so fast. It was as if in one night he towered over both Dean and their father, no longer the little Sammy that needed protecting. Dean panicked, thinking his reason had grown beyond him. Pastor Jim had never explained what happened when your reason didn’t need you anymore. Dean wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

He _needed_ it.

Then Dean saw the look in Sam’s eyes and realized Sam might need it, too.

  


 _My Sammy is like a gazelle, graceful;  
Like a young stag, virile.  
My Sammy has arrived  
And he’s speaking to me!  
_   


Sam was never graceful. His long limbs came too quickly to ever adapt to as he should have. He was always tripping and bumping and coming home with scraped knees and elbows. Dean would patch him up, kissing it to make it better when it was Sammy, slapping a band-aid on it when it was Sam.

When he went to pick up Sam on that first night after so many years apart, Sam had lost that clumsiness somewhere. He moved with the assurance of a man, finally realizing how to work those long limbs in a concentrated effort to kick Dean’s ass. Dean wasn’t sure it was his brother, at first. When had his Sammy turned into this?

In the end, it didn’t matter. Sam came with him and that was the important thing. He could learn this new Sam, burn him into his memory just as he had his Sammy.

  


 _Then you must protect me from the devils,  
Devils on the prowl,  
Devils who would like nothing better  
Than to get into our flowering garden._

 __Their whole lives they were fighting, fighting against whatever it was that wanted to destroy their little corner of the world. Their father had fallen, but Dean had protected Sam and now it was Sam’s turn.

It was time for Sam to protect him and Dean hated having put that responsibility on Sam’s shoulders.

Sam’s shoulders shouldn’t have to hold such useless weight.

  


 _Sleepless through the night, I longed for my Sammy.  
I wanted him desperately. His absence was painful.  
So I got up, went out and roved the crossroads.  
No sooner had I left her than I found him,  
Found my dear lost one.  
I threw my arms around him and held him tight,  
Wouldn’t let him go until I had him home again,  
Safe at home beside me.  
_   


When Sam disappeared in that lonely diner in the middle of nowhere, Dean came as close to pure panic as he’d ever truly gotten. Sam was _gone_. No clue as to why except for the silent dead littering the floor – and they weren’t willing to share what they had seen.

Then Dean found him, just in time to catch his brother’s body as it slumped into the mud.

Sam was dead. It wasn’t possible. Sam was never going to go first. It went against the very nature of Dean’s universe. Sam was the untouched one, too pure to be down here in the muck with him.

Dean couldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t cover that smiling face, those glowing eyes, that soft flesh with the cold, hard earth.

It was his Sammy and his Sammy was _forever_. The earth had no right to touch him.

After the deal had been set, Dean ran inside so quickly, needing to see and to taste and to touch just be sure. Sam was his forever – his tomorrow and his yesterday and he had to be sure his course was still set in the hazel planes of Sam’s eyes.

He wasn’t ever going to let go - not until the hellhounds came for him and dragged him away.

  


 _What’s this I see, approaching from below,  
Raising clouds of black smoke,  
Filling the air with pungent scents?  
Look! It’s the armies of the underworld  
Carried and guarded by the hounds of Hell.  
All of them armed to the teeth,  
Trained for battle,  
Ready for anything, anytime.  
_   


Then the armies of Hell came flooding from the gate and the future didn’t seem so sure anymore. He managed to save Sam only to leave him a world flooded with the horrors of Hell – in a world where Dean wouldn’t be around to protect him.

He’d failed. He’d failed his father and he’d failed Sam. No matter what he did, Sam was left behind to fend for himself.

Dean didn’t know how he could handle knowing that he would leave Sam behind to die.

  


 _You’re so beautiful, my Sammy, and your eyes are veiled  
By your hair as it flows and shimmers  
Your smile is generous and full –  
Expressive and strong and clean.  
The smooth, lithe lines of your neck  
Command notice – all heads turn in awe and admiration!  
_   


It became more difficult when others began to notice the wonder that was Sam. It was easier when Sam was Dean’s secret, protected by all that baby fat and brattiness. Then Dean didn’t have to share his Sammy with anyone. No one was interested in the short, pudgy boy with his nose stuck in a book.

But Sam’s body stretched and molded itself to the muscles that fought so hard to carve their way beneath his skin. His smile could disarm anyone with its bright flash of teeth and a quick hint of dimple. Sam oozed compassion, but with a quiet strength that didn’t allow anyone the false impression that he was weak.

He gained inches and pounds and that brattiness was slowly replaced by a quiet assuredness. Dean’s little Sammy no longer gave a fuck if other people listened, secure in his own sense of self.

Sam wasn’t their father and refused to be their father’s shadow.

Dean had never been more jealous of his brother.

  


 _The hard, muscled curves of your body,  
Invite me, and I come. I stay  
Until dawn breathes its light and night slips away.  
You’re beautiful from head to toe,  
Absolutely flawless._

 __From the time they were children, once they heard their father’s snores echoing from the room next door, Dean would sneak into Sammy’s bed, needing to feel the hummingbird thrum of his brother’s heartbeat under his hand. It was perfectly innocent. Dean just needed to know with the literal-mindedness of the very young that his brother was safe throughout the night – and the only way he could be sure of that was to sleep beside him, just in case.

He’d stay until dawn, when he’d silently creep back into his own bed before their father caught them. Needing each other like that was a weakness he had tried to train right out of them both.

As Sam grew, the space in the bed next to him shrunk until the long lines of their bodies lay pressed from chest to shin against each other, their heated skins burning each other with the barest touch. Dean still stayed, stayed until it became physically impossible to sleep comfortably like that anymore.

Then he came only when invited which amounted to much the same thing, and the bed never got any bigger.

  


 _You’ve captured my heart, dear Sammy.  
You looked at me and I fell in love.  
One look my way and that was it.  
Dear lover and brother and friend,  
You’re my secret - a private and pure thing.  
Body and soul, you are my paradise.  
_   


Dean didn’t know how he survived having this secret for so long. He never told anyone, even Sam, how his chest hurt whenever he looked at his brother. It was a physical pain he never understood until he was much, much older - a burning hole in the shape of Sam.

Even then it wasn’t something he could explain – a muddle of thoughts and feelings that could never be expressed with mere words. Sam was his enigma, his unsolvable puzzle, not to be shared with anyone. No one else could understand. It wasn’t something dirty or tawdry, it wasn’t something he needed to be ashamed of – it was merely…Sam.

Sam was his everything – untarnished and wholesome. He would never dare do anything to spoil that.

  


 _My Sammy wouldn’t take no for an answer,  
The longer he knocked, the more excited I became.  
I got up to open my heart,  
Ready to receive him.  
But when I opened the door he was gone.  
My Sammy had tired of waiting and left.  
And I died inside.  
I ran out looking for him,  
But he was nowhere to be found.  
I called in the darkness, and the darkness answered back.  
_   


Sam was too smart; he knew how to root through Dean’s emotions until he found what he was looking for. No matter how hard Dean tried to keep this from his brother, Sam keep pushing, barreling through with all the grace of a minotaur, demanding to know what it was Dean kept hidden.

Dean figured Sam had always known, but it amused Sam to make Dean so uncomfortable by trying to make him talk about his feelings. So Dean kept pushing him away, refusing to acknowledge the secret that lay buried so deeply not even he was ready to admit to it.

Sam didn’t give up, demanding Dean give in with all the tenacity of a pit bull with a particularly meaty bone. It wasn’t by any obvious means – his Sam was sly…tricky. He’d have Dean talking about one thing and neatly trip him into another. But Dean stayed strong, strong as he could.

Until Sam tried something new, using his body to pry Dean’s secrets from him instead of merely relying on insubstantial words. Dean didn’t stand a chance.

But by that time it was too little, too late and Sam was gone.

  


 _My golden one, pure and untarnished,  
With brown curls tumbling across his forehead.  
His eyes are like moss, bright and sharp,  
But deep-set, brimming with meaning.  
His voice, his words, warm and reassuring.  
_   


Sam’s voice in the darkness always caused goosebumps to break out over Dean’s skin. Sam would whisper his secrets across the empty space between their beds and Dean would close his eyes and bathe in the wonder of Sam’s words.

It was only when they got older that the words took on a harsher edge, became hard and cutting. Sam knew exactly what to say to slice another little piece of Dean’s flesh from his bones, to punish him for giving in to their father, but being unable to give in to Sam.

Even without words, Sam could cut brutal and deep with just the coldness in his eyes. Every part of Sam was expressive; Dean just had to look at him to know what Sam was feeling.

Sam was so free in dispensing both his pleasure and pain that when it was gone, Dean almost didn’t know how to feel at all.

  


 _Fine muscles ripple beneath his skin,  
Quiet and beautiful.  
His torso is the work of a sculptor,  
Hard and smooth as bronze.  
He stands tall like a cedar, strong and deep-rooted,  
His words are kisses, his kisses words.  
Everything about him delights me, thrills me  
Through and through.  
_   


Dean was amazed at how Sam continued to change, even on their quest to find their father. His wonder of a little brother grew and developed into this almost mythic creature. In his heart, Dean hoped he had something to do with it, that somehow he was calling this greatness from his Sammy – that Sammy could only truly blossom with Dean’s nurturing presence beside him.

Sure, Jess had the Sam his Sammy had become, but the Sam that existed now was all his and she had never had a chance to meet him.

Dean thought he should feel guilty, but he silently gloated, hoarding his ever-changing Sammy, unwilling to share him with the world.

  


 _There’s no one like him on earth,  
Never has been, never will be.  
He’s a man beyond compare.  
My Sammy is perfection,  
Pure and innocent as the day he was born.  
_   


And still Sam seemed to rise above it all, the darkness and the depravity of everything around him. Sam still wanted more – still believed that there was this perfect world out there that they deserved, that they had a right to just like everyone else. Those white picket fences with a dog and a big backyard, they weren’t fairy tales that faded with his painful introduction to what the world really was. They just grew stronger, making Sam hold this fantasy of normal in his needy, clutching hands.

Dean had given up that illusion long ago, too entrenched in survival to dream.

  


 _The feelings I get when I see the high mountain ranges  
\- Stirrings of desire, longings for the heights –  
Remind me of you,  
And I am spoiled for anyone else!  
Your beauty, within and without, is absolute,  
Dear Sammy, friend and brother and lover.  
_   


Dean used to dream as he stared out the Impala’s window, the trees and mountains and forests and valleys blurring together into indistinguishable shapes on the endless road. Sam’s heavy weight would be resting against his shoulder or Sam’s head would be lolling in his lap as he slept, but Dean never felt more alive. Even with their father’s stiff silence crammed in the front seat, Dean had everything he needed - an endless imagination and his brother beside him.

This didn’t change. Dean was never happier than when behind the wheel of his baby with Sam at his side. It was even better then because they had nothing to worry about but each other; Dean didn’t have to share Sam with anyone, not even their father.

Everywhere they traveled had some childhood memory attached to it, some tiny version of Sam running around Dean’s thoughts, taking control. If no memory came to mind, they made new ones, memories with the sharp tang of lust and the bitterness of sorrow too often attached.

It didn’t matter, even Dean’s most painful memories of Sam were worthwhile because they contained Sam – that was all he needed.

  


 _You are my brother, sharing with me the breasts of my mother,  
Playing outside in the street,  
Kissing in plain view of everyone,  
And no one thinking anything of it.  
I’d take your hand and bring you home  
Where we were raised by our father.  
_   


It was easier when they were children. Dean could hug and kiss Sammy without taking a second to think about it. Sam would grab Dean’s hand in his chubby little fist and they would walk side by side, fingers threaded together like nothing could ever separate them. They were brothers and they loved each other. Dean reveled in the freedom.

But as they grew older, it became less easy to show such affection. The outside world seemed to frown on two grown boys sharing a hug or a simple kiss on the cheek and they could no longer hold hands without frowns of discontent and muttered slurs being slung in their direction.

So Dean stopped, cut himself off from the flowing spring of affection that was his Sammy – burying it down so deep that all that need and affection turned inside out, becoming something new. Acted the man who didn’t need to feel his brother’s hand in his to be content.

Dean had never been more miserable until he lost something he’d started to take for granted.

  


 _Hang my amulet around your neck,  
Wear my ring on your finger.  
Love is invincible facing danger and death.  
Passion laughs at the terrors of Hell.  
The fire of love stops at nothing –  
It sweeps everything before it.  
Floods of demons cannot drown love, torrents of hellfire cannot put it out.  
Love cannot be bought, love cannot be sold –  
It is forever.  
_   


Love cannot be sold, but a soul can. Dean never thought his soul would be worth much, but when he nearly lost the most valuable thing in his world, he gladly offered it to whatever thing might take it if he could only get his Sammy back. Dean still thought he got the better bargain - the crossroads demon was foolish to settle for so little for such a prize as Sam.

After all, Dean’s soul was dirty and tarnished, hardly gleaming at all under all the ashes and blood that had coated it in layers of filth. But Sam? Sam was as pure as star shine; he would have undoubtedly lit up the heavens with his wonder.

Dean thought the sky was a little darker once he got Sam back, but he was too selfish to share what was his with that greedy God that took everything else from him.

So he only had a year with his Sammy – so what? That was more than he had when Sam lay dead in his arms. An entire lifetime wouldn’t have ever been enough, so a year didn’t seem much less.

As long as his Sammy was alive, Dean knew he could survive anything, even the fires of Hell.

After all, Sam was his reason. 

  


  



End file.
